july 1998

photographing in michigan’s upper peninsula

summer morning, 6 a.m. the bridge! how welcome this sight always is, after that endless drive from metro detroit through the night.
the bridge at sunrise.
through the toll booth, stop on the other side at the info and restroom building. using foul language because it’s closed again for cleaning until 8 a.m. then west on number 2 – rushing to the restroom, loading gas and a 16ounce interpretation of coffee as the local shell sees it. top down time for the jeep, even if it’s a little chilly at 65 degrees. along the west coast shore drive the temperature approaches discomfort. westbound to the newberry intersection, then north and west again. meanwhile the clouds creep in. the darkboringblue ones, the drizzlers. no reason to get alarmed yet, the top stays down. going west to seney. 19th century lumber town, rowdy and lawless back then. rated about 1 point on the ‘i75 agonzing scale’ where the stretch from midland to west branch equals 0. on the brighter side - seney is home of the intersection to grand marais. turn and another 25 miles northbound. you are there. lovely grand marais. like a lot of lake superior harbor towns, you drive down into them. sleepy houses, wooden sidings – old fashioned and well maintained. you park at one corner store and buy yourself a coffee from a red cheeked old lady that rummages out of a mess of old books and t-shirts into your direction. on her face a friendly welcome. in places like that time seems to pass more slowly – these are the truer towns and villages, not the contaminated resorts and retirement colonies.
grand marais is the eastmost point of the ‘pictured rocks national lakeshore’. quiet in the shadow of luring munising. i like being there, even if i’m just passing through.
westbound again, passing the toes of the grand sable dunes, the ranger station and the familiar sign ‘unpaved road. proceed at your own risk’. number 58 all the way to munising. graded dirt under hardwood arcades. under the autumn sun these 40 miles of bends and curves must be something very special. dreaming stops – there are light pitter-patters upon the leaves above. about 15 more miles northwest to a campground, passing the overview of the dunes and some hideouts and simple cottages. into the parking lot as the first visitor of the day and out of the jeep for a few stifflegged staggers. the grab of the right back pack strap and the familiar dent in your knee joints when the twenty plus pounds find their way down your back. tripod over the right shoulder and down to the beach. the lake. sleeping today – gentle murmuring along the rocky shore. draught of the last weeks exposed countless smooth sanded rocks of all colors and shapes. along the eastbound stretch where the au sable lighthouse is supposed to be found. an older couple from the campground in front of me, heading the same way, looking for stranded ship wrecks. it starts to drizzle again. we leave the beach for the main trail for a few yards – the water still covers short stretches. back down again and toward the first wrecks. long wooden hull or floor parts, presumably 19th century, pierced with tons of bolts and studs – seemingly unmovable buried in sand and rocks. the old routine: back pack down, tripod up, camera out, mounting, unfolding, adjusting, framing, focussing. drizzle sprinkles the lens. light meter out, pushing the switch to ‘on’, metering for a while - hesitation. resignation. pushing the switch to ‘off’, taking an educated guess and adjust the exposure settings on the shutter accordingly. final check under the dark cloth, insertion of the film holder, pulling the dark slide, wiping the lens again. waiting for a little foam edge on the water. exposure!  insertion of the dark slide, pulling the film holder out and packing it all away. staggering careful over the wet rocks and pebbles for a further mile. then there’s the light house. it feels very strange to look up the dune and see the top of the tower looking down at you. perhaps it is, because you are used to be level with a building and not underneath it.
way up the dunes. ‘wow – nice place! thought it would be all messed up here!’ the house is well maintained. you can even go up the tower in groups if you want to. i don’t. instead i copy my own work unsuccessfully until the last sheet is exposed. walk back and think. very romantic place – maybe the incarnation of romantic. wrecks, desertion, sea shore and that lonely house. people seem to adjust to that. couples of all ages walk hand in hand, expressions are relaxed and friendly. nice place.
back to the jeep. meanwhile the parking lot is packed. shift the truck into gear and go. short stop for a lake superior exposure and then 30 more miles of dirt road. about halfway through there’s a black bear trotting across the road while the jeep is bouncing around a bend. doesn’t turn its head. through an old logging area full of crippled stumps. maybe the seney folk once had a barbecue here.
munising. nice little town hugging the horse shoe bay. lovely but crowded. the pictured rock cruises and ship wreck tours start here. a few beautiful waterfalls in the vicinity and lots of motels. the ones downtown are the usual resort rip off. thin walls and horrendous rates. stop for gas and a ‘subways’.
ahead westbound. marquette. second largest city of the u.p. with a light house and an iron loading dock that are worth a closer look. leaving 28 for downtown with it’s typical turn of the century city bricks, some in disrepair – passing a carnival and crowds of people. that settles the iron loading dock question. parking at the museum and getting confused about those ‘stay off’ signs surrounding the light house. there’s a skinny version of bernd (wiebke’s dad) raking some flower beds – why not ask him. it turns out, the light is still an active coast guard station, not open to the public. he’s canadian and has seen quite a bit of the world. he mentions casually after a while of talking ‘maybe i’ll better get going. my shift ends at five.’ it is about 20 minutes past five.
ironwood is still several stops away. about three hours later i’ll lean on the familiar reception desk. ‘you’re the one that takes pictures – right?’